


Don't say tu m'aimes

by neverthecanonOTP



Series: Invisible string [2]
Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Denial is in the air, F/M, La vie en rose plays on repeat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverthecanonOTP/pseuds/neverthecanonOTP
Summary: “Mare and I are going to Paris!” Gisa screams.Mare just basks in the joy of the moment. A flash of Cal’s perfect white smile appears on her mind for a second as she imagines telling him of this moment.Uh, that’s odd, she thinks and banishes the image.  It’s not like she’s going to see that man ever again in her life.(She is wrong)
Relationships: Mare Barrow/Tiberias "Cal" Calore VII
Series: Invisible string [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891324
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing smut and boy, was it fun.

The minutes before dawn paint the bedroom with a grey glow creating an ethereal, liminal atmosphere. It takes her a few seconds to process her location, why she is so incredibly comfortable, and who is wrapped around her like a giant koala. Cal must have woken up at some point during the night and placed them under the covers. A stab of loss overtakes her when she realizes the night is over, she has to leave. She shuts her eyes, counts to three to get a grip of her emotions, and, careful not to wake him, extricates herself from his arms. Without looking back because it would only make things harder, Mare tiptoes out of the bedroom. 

In the office, she takes off his shirt and puts her dress back on. The check addressed to Gisa Barrow for the sum of 50 thousand dollars looks back at her from the desk. A stupid, irrational part of her tells her not amount is worth the lost opportunity of being with Cal a little longer. She forces it to shut up, this meant nothing for him. Still, it feels wrong to leave without a goodbye, so she grabs the useless Mare Titanos check and writes on the back: _‘Thanks for everything. It was nice to meet you’_ she is tempted to add _‘I won’t forget you’_ but it would make her sound like a sappy cry baby, even if it is the truth. She signs _‘Mare’_. 

Gathering her belongings, she makes it for the door. As she closes it, she can’t help the ache inside her lamenting it will be like she had never been here, like a dream. 

On the subway ride back to her apartment, she checks the message she sent to Walsh and Cameron; the former hasn’t opened it yet so she deletes it. She isn’t so lucky with Cameron, where a double blue check informs her she won’t be able to get rid of all the evidence from last night. Looking at the sent picture, she gets mad. How does he look that good even on an ID picture? That's just unfair. Out of spite, she deletes that as well. It won’t do her any good to dwell on impossible things. 

With a jolt, she realizes they didn’t even have sex. She covers her mouth to silence a sudden disbelieving cackle. The few other people on the car look at her disapprovingly, thinking she must be drunk, or because she’s taking her walk of shame. Mare is too amused by the irony of it all to care. _So, she did rob him after all._

~ 

Back at the apartment, her plans of sneaking in unnoticed go south as soon as she passes by the kitchen door. “Morning,” Cameron greets her over a steaming cup of coffee, raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk plastered on her face. Damn early risers, who the hell wakes up at 7.30 am on a Sunday? 

“Hi,” she waves sheepishly. Since she’s been caught, there is no point in going straight to her room anymore. She pours herself a cup of coffee. 

“You look like you had fun,” her friend casually comments, leaning her back on the counter of the narrow kitchen. 

“Please don’t tell Kilorn,” she begs thinking about every teasing remark he’s been making since she broke up with Tyton. Funny variations of _‘you’re in a bad mood because you need dick’_ that weren’t funny at all. She has a rotten temper and dick, or rather the lack of it, has nothing to do with it. 

“Oh, I won’t. We made a bet and I’m not about to tell him he won.” She takes a sip averting her eyes. _Lovely,_ her friends speculating about her sex life. 

“You two are made for each other,” Mare scowls at her as she leaves, carrying her shoes and the coffee. 

She’s about to open her bedroom door when a very sleepy Kilorn exits the room across the hall. She holds her breath. He scratches his stomach, out in the open under one of his girlfriend’s shirts that fits him like a crop-top, and heads for the bathroom at the end of the hall like a zombie, without noticing her. _Go, go, keep walking_ , she mentally pushes him away. His hand is on the doorknob when he suddenly goes still, then he whips around looking at her with his eyes like plates, very much awake now. An evil smile creeps on his lips. Her shoulders fall like she just aged 50 years with the prospect of Kilorn’s newly acquired jokes ammunition. He senses her irritation and his smile widens. “Caaam, daarling!” he sing-songs. 

Fuck. 

~ 

Sundays are the sacred day for family gatherings at the Barrow’s household. Mare has never been more excited to see the family, particularly a little redhead someone, than she is now. She knocks on the door, the muffled sounds of music and voices reach her ears and a minute later, Ruth Barrow opens the door and ushers her in, taking the box from her hands and kissing her cheek. 

“ _Hola, mi amor_. Mare is here!” she shouts to her back, then beams at her, “What is this?” 

“Croissants and strawberries. Don’t let those beasts eat everything, they’re for Gisa.” She lets her backpack drop from her shoulder when they enter the kitchen and dining room shared space. Her mother tells her something she doesn’t hear over the noise of overlapping chatter, her mom’s music, and Tramy banging pots and bowls as he prepares enough food to feed an army. Mare goes to hug her dad and greets the rest of the family with quick pecks on the cheek, except Farley, who still prefers a nod from a distance. British people are cold like that. Or at least Diana is, and she is the only Brit Mare knows. 

“I saw you went out last night,” Bree says making himself heard over the noise, sitting on the far end of the long table. His tone is casual but his posture, arms crossed, and raised chin, are accusatory. Mare sits next to her father, across from the happy couple. “Ann posted on Instagram.” 

“Yeah, so? We were celebrating.” She starts dropping hints of the story she elaborated on the way here. It’s not what Bree cares about, though. 

“That dress was a little short, don’t you think?” he sniffs and Mare rolls her eyes. 

“ _No lo escuches, estabas preciosa_ ,” Ruth reassures her as she hits Bree with a wooden spoon. The asshole made sure to show the picture to their parents. That's low. 

“ _Gracias, mamá_.” Then she turns her attention back to her traitor brother, “Walsh’s dress wasn’t much longer,” she points out batting her eyelashes, folding her hands over the table. “And her night was way more _eventful_ than mine.” 

“Point for Mare!” Shade extends his hand for a high-five, switching his attention from the serious political conversation Farley and his father are having for petty banter. She high-fives him. 

Bree scoffs. “Like I care. _I_ broke up with her.” 

“I know,” Mare shrugs getting cocky, “that’s one of the things we were celebrating.” 

Tramy and Shade holler in mock pain while Mare accepts her victory with maturity, sticking out her tongue to Bree. “What else were you celebrating? besides poor Ann finally seeing the light, of course.” Tramy asks cleaning his hands on a towel, standing at a safe distance from his eldest brother’s chair. Finally, everyone turns their heads to listen. She smiles but it doesn’t last when she scans the room for the one that needs to hear the news, and she isn't’ there. 

“Where’s Gisa?” Their expressions become somber. It’s Ruth who dares to speak with a pained tone, “She hasn’t left her room all week... after-” she clears her throat and forces a sad smile. “After the bank rejected our loan request.” 

“I need to talk to her,” Mare stalks off upstairs. 

She knocks on Gisa’s door and a trembling voice invites her in. She feels sick to her stomach when she walks in to the sight of her little sister curled up on her bed, curtains drawn and her face red and puffy from crying. Sitting down next to her she softly combs her unusually greasy red hair with her fingers. The room is eerily tidy, not a single sketch or scrap of fabric or even a lonely thread on sight, like everything was hidden away. Buried like a corpse. 

“I’m fine, Mare. Really. I’ll go back to work tomorrow.” She sounds so composed. Instead of breaking everything and screaming about the injustice, she just bends her back and carries on. Not one person in the world deserves to have her dreams come true more than Gisa does. 

“No way. Your shift is during bank hours.” 

“So?” Gisa sits up, knitting her brow. 

“So, you wouldn’t make it on time to make the deposit. Tomorrow is the last day, right?” She feels like screaming the news in her face. Still, she enjoys keeping her in suspense. Gisa’s face goes pale like she’s afraid to hope, and nods. Mare finally gives her an envelope and watches her extract the check. Her eyes go wide, darting over the name and amount several times. 

“Bu- How- Who- Mare is this real? How did you get this?” Of course her practical sister won’t believe anything until she is given a plausive explanation. 

She had thought of telling Gisa the story she will tell the rest of the family, about filling a non-profit organization’s form for financial aid months ago, but she is too smart to buy into it. So Mare sticks to the truth. Truth-ish. 

“A rich dude over at The Rift offered to pay for a night with me.” Gisa’s mouth falls open. “I negotiated until we reached an agreement.” _Negotiated is one way to put it._

“MARE MOLLY BARROW!” Gisa seems on the brink of having a heart attack. 

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” She forces shut her sister’s mouth. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t have sex and he was really nice.” 

Gisa blinks like she’s short-circuiting, then she sighs shaking her head. “He must have some weird-ass fetishes.” 

“That’s what I thought as well,” she bumps her shoulder. “What matters is that you are going to Paris, just like it’s meant to be.” 

It takes her a few seconds to process. “I’m going to Paris,” she tastes the words on her mouth then, slowly, the light behind her pretty eyes returns until she’s beaming. “I’m going to Paris!” She throws her arms around Mare’s neck in a crushing hug. “Thank you!” she cries into her hair over and over. Mare starts tearing up, just a little. “You have to come with me!” Gisa squeals shaking her by the shoulders. “And before you say no, there’s more than enough money for the entire year.” 

“What made you think I was going to say no?” She hasn’t finished the sentence and Gisa is screaming a high-pitched note again. She shuts her eyes to the noise but smiles all the same. 

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Daniel appears at the door, panting with the effort of running up the stairs with his bad leg. The rest of the family pops up behind him, worried and confused. 

“Mare and I are going to Paris!” She launches herself at the small crowd like a bowling ball of euphoria. 

Mare just basks in the joy of the moment. A flash of Cal’s perfect white smile appears on her mind for a second as she imagines telling him of this moment. _Uh, that’s odd_ , she thinks and banishes the image. It’s not like she’s going to see that man ever again in her life. 

~✨✈️✨~ 

Paris, the City of love, grand architectural feats, crepes street vendors, second-hand books shops, pushy souvenir sellers on every corner, rude Parisians with amazing fashion sense, and magnificent art, so much of it. It’s beautiful and chaotic and Gisa fits right in. 

They got there a week before the semester started so Gisa had time to adjust and set her small but comfortable bedroom properly. The students’ residence is co-ed because this is France and they just don’t give a damn. Most of them are from different parts of the world, so common areas are a mess of different languages and colors mixing in the most idyllic picture possible. This must have been what John Lennon saw when he wrote _Imagine_. He was probably super high when he wrote that, like half the college kids here, but it’s still very nice. 

“Won’t be so nice on exams season, when we are all crying on the corners and injecting café into our veins,” little practical Gisa mutters leaning closer to her. Despite the ominous comment, there’s an underlying excitement in her voice. Mare rolls her eyes, unable to get rid of the happy smile on her face. She is happy for her sister, happy to have spent the week roaming places she had seen a thousand times in movies, and happy to be here for her on her first day of college. Her mother tasked her with taking pictures documenting the event like this was the singing of the Versailles Treaty. For the Barrows, this was even bigger. “What are you going to do today?” Gisa links their arms together as they exit to the cobbled streets. Her art supplies and drawing board neatly tucked under her other arm, in a leather bind. 

This early in the morning, when most tourists are still fast asleep, the empty streets glisten with a layer of morning dew, reflecting the orange glow from the streetlights. Gisa has orientation at 8 and her first class at 9, so they want to grab a quick breakfast and walk the 10 blocks that separate the student's residence from the École des Beaux Arts. 

“I’ll come back and sleep ‘til noon.” She doesn’t know how is she even up right now when they went to bed so late last night. At least, today Gisa let her wear whatever she wanted instead of handpicking her a pretty outfit like the days prior. Mare, a petty woman by self-admission, chose washed out jeans, a simple shirt, a frayed old purple hoodie she stole from Tramy years ago, a pair of Converse she refuses to throw away, and to seal the look, her hair is up in a messy bun of badly dried hair that will make her look like a lioness when it dries in a few hours. Gisa had taken one look at her and sighed like she could make her feel the disapproval through sheer willpower alone. It had been very satisfying. 

Gisa seems horrified at the prospect, “you’re not doing such a thing! You only have a week left to know the city, and there’s so much to see.” 

“I have no intention of getting lost in this maze of a city when the only French I know is how to say croissant and toilette.” Also spending the morning lying on actual bed instead of the inflatable mattress she’s been using for the past week sounds heavenly. 

“You could use Google translate,” she suggests while Mare opens the door of a small Patisserie that’s already open to the public. 

“I’m already low on data.” The place smells amazing, there are other customers there. When they reach the counter, a pretty girl with blue dyed hair and a nose piercing takes their order. She takes her time, suggesting items from the menu and giving them cookie samples and… wait a minute. Mare might not speak french but she recognizes the blatant flirting that’s going on right under her nose. The way the shop girl smiles wider than necessary, and the way Gisa plays with strands of her red hair while pursing her lips pronouncing certain words. Well, well, she can’t help to feel a little proud. 

When they leave, several minutes later, coffees and pastries in hand, Mare can’t hold it in anymore. 

“Look at you, not even a week here and you’re already charming some _mademoiselle_.” She doesn’t even try to get the pronunciation right. “Bree could never.” 

Gisa blushes furiously. “Oh buzz off. She was just being nice.” She drinks her coffee to hide her goofy smile. 

“Gisa Barrow, femme fatale.” Mare writes on the air with her half eaten pastry. 

“You’re the one to talk! I got us some free cookies; you got some fool to pay for the pleasure of your company.” 

“I’m a very pleasant person.” 

“Said no one ever,” she mumbles. “Hey, you never told me anything else about that guy.” 

What guy? The guy she has spent every waking moment thinking about for the past month like some naive schoolgirl? Tiberias Calore VII, the CEO’s name in every news channel economy segment after he announced he would forgo his salary for half a year to pay for an unemployment fund for the laid-off workers? The dumbass that made terrible jokes that actually made her laugh? The demigod that set her blood on fire in a fever she hasn’t been able to cure yet? That one? 

“There’s not much to tell about Cal.” She says under her breath, even though her mind is running like a flipbook, going through every look, touch, and word from that godforsaken night for the millionth time. 

They are close to the École now, she can distinguish the iron gates flanked by two heads carved on columns one block away. 

Gisa seems disappointed “Was he at least cute?” 

She wants to laugh at the question. 

“No. He was hideous, poor thing.” Mare tries to convey as much pity as she can. “He is lucky to have been born rich.” They reach the crowded gates and Mare wonders how does anyone ever get their bike back from the monstrosity of chained up bikes to the posts on the sidewalk. “Ok, let me take a picture so I can go back to sleep.” She pulls her phone. Gisa is happy to comply, striking poses and beaming at the camera. 

A blurry image is getting closer in the frame, walking directly to her. Mare tears her eyes away from the screen and holy fucking J Christ if it isn’t... 

“What is it?” Gisa asks when Mare freezes and stares over her shoulder like she just saw a ghost. 

“Mare,” Cal breathes out with a disbelieving smile when he’s close enough. This isn’t real. Gisa’s new girlfriend must have fed them especial (weed) cookies and now she’s having a bad trip. Or a good trip, because he looks like he walked straight out of an autumn male fashion catalog, with nice black pants, shiny leather shoes, a knit sweater, and a sleek trench coat. 

Her sister stands next to her, bouncing on her feet like a child with a sugar overdose, pinching her elbow to pull her out of her reverie. 

“Hey, man.” Her voice comes out too high, very aware of Gisa trying to figure out how they know each other. She can smell the fumes coming out of her little pretty head. Cal’s smile falters, he must think she doesn’t remember his name. Why does he even care? _Why— HOW is he here?!_ “Small world, right?” 

“Actually, I was here to ask your sister for your number,” he says unabashedly. 

“What?” She is so shocked she almost chokes up on her own saliva. 

“Oh, I’ll give you her number right now,” Gisa blurts out looking at Cal like he shoots glitter out his ass. 

“You must be Gisa Barrow, nice to meet you,” he extends his hand and Gisa shakes it enthusiastically. “I’m Cal.” 

Gisa’s eyebrows skyrocket into her forehead. 

“Cal, you say?” Gisa gives her the most insufferable side-eye in the history of sisterhood. “Very nice to meet you, indeed.” An idea pops in her head. “You two can keep talking. I have classes, like, right now. Bye.” When she’s a few paces away she turns around and mouths _“OH MY GOD!”_ Mare scares her away with a pointed scowl. 

Mare shakes her head digging her hands deep in the hoodie pocket so he can’t see her fidgeting. Of all days, she chose today to look like absolute trash. Cal doesn’t seem to mind though. “I have so many questions right now,” she doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“I couldn’t find you on social media, I figured you had lied about your name, which is totally understandable.” He adds with a placating gesture of his hands. “I thought about telling the bank to hold you there when you went to cash in the check, but I didn’t want to freak you out. Then I remembered my friend Elane has some contacts here,” he points to the college behind his back, “I asked about Gisa Barrow and they told me she had her first class today. I was planning on requesting the dean to let me talk to her. I would have asked her for your number. That’s it.” His sounds collected even as his gaze keeps drifting away guiltily like he knows what he did is kind of stalkerish but he doesn’t regret it. 

That was one convoluted plan. “And what if she told you to fuck off? She doesn’t just give away my number to random strangers.” 

“I thought that as well. I was going to tell her to text you asking you if you wanted her to give me your number. And if you said no as well... I would have left.” Of course he would do the honorable thing, the trademark good boy. A dark corner of her mind is disappointed he would have given up so easily. What kind of twisted wish is that? 

“You could have looked up my sister’s Instagram instead, you know?” She can barely keep herself from smirking. 

“Yeah.” He blushes and scratches his stubbled chin sheepishly. “I guess that was one way to do it. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Mare is smiling fully now. A wide girlish smile that makes her cheeks hurt. “And the super important thing you wanted to text me was...” She can hear the swelling romantic music playing on the background, as the rays of sun filter through the clouds, bathing them in gold almost as beautiful as Cal’s sparkling eyes, and a breeze ruffles his jet-black hair. 

“I wanted to ask you on a proper date.” His charming smile is blinding. “Would you go out with me?” This is it, the moment when she blushes and shyly says yes while the violins erupt in a triumphant melody as the credits start to roll. 

“No.” The romantic record on the background stops with a scratch. Cal looks like she just slapped him into a different continent. “Listen, Cal. We had fun the other day, but you don’t want to go out with me.” She rushes to clear up the evident confusion in his narrowed eyes. “You’re mixing up a bad case of blue balls with...” She gestures to his head, “whatever it is you think you feel for me.” 

The weather gods must have a sense of humor, because the scarce sunlight dims into a grey autumn glow, leaving behind a chilly, overcast day. 

“I think I know what I feel,” he sounds a bit offended. Her heart leaps in her chest but she crushes the stupid hope threatening to overtake her. Hope leads to disappointment, and disappointment leads to heartbreak. She is better off alone. 

“It’s the hormones talking, Cal. If we had had sex, you would have forgotten about me withing a week.” She realizes the underlying implication of her being bad in bed. She tries to fix it, “I mean... as a person. The sex would’ve been the best of your life.” 

Cal quirks an eyebrow, starting to see something off about her cool façade. Does he see how badly she is panicking? 

“You didn’t think about me?” He takes a step toward her, inspecting the cracks of her mask. “Not even once?” 

Once? Try a thousand times. Mare hasn’t known peace from the memory of him since that night. She gulps, unable to outright lie when he is so close. 

“This isn’t about me. I got what I wanted out of our deal” 

“Bullshit,” he calls her bluff with an increasingly smug expression. “I’m not talking about the money.” 

He’s talking about her reaching ecstasy from merely grinding on his thigh. What can she say in her defense? That she is very sensitive? 

“I wasn’t either and I mean it.” she doubles down. 

“ _That_ was enough for you?” He doesn’t believe her blatant lie, and it shows. It makes her furious that he can see through her like this. She will convince him that she doesn’t want to have anything to do with him and that he is just horny, by god she will. 

“Yes. I’m a simple woman.” She shrugs. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll save you the trouble of having to endure through a date neither of us really wants, and skip to the part where you get your... money’s worth.” 

Ok, now he really is offended, “If you think I’m here because of the damn-” 

Foresight. If she had some, she could have predicted a thousand ways the plan she is about to lay out can backfire, but she doesn’t so she proposes the most masochistic, ridiculous arrangement she can possibly think of just to get him out of her system once and for all. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do: You can have your way with me. I’ll make you the favor of not being surprised when you realize I was right and you were just horny.” It might break her soul a little in the process, but it’s better than the alternative of letting this infectious disease called ‘infatuation’ take root. Also, spending a few hours in Cal’s bed doesn’t sound so terrible. “No need for the guilt that you will feel once you come to that conclusion.” 

His bronze eyes bore into hers looking for signs of weakness, a flaw in the strategy. He must find one pretty quickly because determination makes him stand straighter and nod in a very professional manner like he is closing a FlameNor deal instead of the mundane matter this is. “Fine. My place is a few blocks away, Rue du Mont Thabor.” He starts walking at a brisk pace. Mare runs a little to catch up. 

“What time do you want me there?” she asks, unsure about the technicalities. This is her fault, really. She is the one that turned it into a business agreement. 

“You have someplace you need to be now?” He keeps his face forward, but there’s amusement in his voice. 

Now. Ok, that’s a little sooner than expected. To be barely out of bed and already with the prospect of getting into another. _Only in Paris_ , she muses feeling vertigo from the sudden change of plans for her morning. 

“No, but I’m not-” she looks like crap. The curated prettied up version of Mare he met that night was an exception, not the rule, and he is in for a disappointment as soon as he gets over the excitement of finding her and actually pays attention to the visual aspect. On second thought... this actually helps her cause. She feels a villainous glee for not allowing Gisa to dress her up today. “Nothing. I was just wondering if you play ‘Marco Polo world edition’ with every girl you hire to spend the night with you.” 

That gives him pause, slowing down enough to look at her when he says. “I don’t. You’re the only one.” 

_Don’t let it go to your head_ , she hammers in the warning on her brain. Deciding that talking might be counterproductive this time around, she lets her gaze drift to the neat architecture and expensive boutiques instead. In contrast with the last (the only) time they were together; there’s an uncomfortable and almost angry frustration between them. The cold wind that is picking up, stinging her face and further messing up her bun doesn’t help either. 

Cal speaks again when they reach the Pont du Carrousel, the Seine’s muddy dark waters below them. “I don’t know what possessed me that night to make such an offer to you.” _Ouch_. “I was trying to approach you, but you were leaving and I freaked out. I had never paid for a woman’s company and it’s not something I intend to do ever again, Mare.” _Oh, ok that wasn’t so bad._ “But now you think I’m some creep who uses money as leverage.” His voice is filled with regret, and… is he crying? No, it’s rain. Heavy cold raindrops start hitting the pavement intermittently. 

“And you aren’t?” his honesty tugs again at the invisible string tied between her ribs. 

“I try not to be.” He smiles that tired smile she only saw once before but recognizes so well. Engraved on her memory like the rest of every single angle of his aristocratic face. 

“I’ll give you points for effort, then.” The words have a calming effect on his troubled expression. They seek refuge beneath the arches of the Pavillion de la Tremoille as the drizzle turns into a downpour. 

“We should take a cab.” 

“How far is it?” 

“5 blocks, maybe 6.” 

She rolls her eyes at that. It will take them longer to get a cab than simply walk there. 

“Don’t be a baby, Cal. Are you afraid of a little water?” Mare teases him walking backward into the curtain of rain. He grabs her hoodie and pulls her back under the arch. Her stomach flips by the proximity. It’s safe to say, he still makes her weak in the knees. 

“it’s called being a responsible adult,” he grumbles as he shakes off his trench coat and raises it over his head, leaving room next to him, to shield them against the weather. Mare bites her lips and takes refuge next to him. His scent of cologne and ink and the warmth his body irradiates overtakes her, making her light-headed. Like that, they march into the downpour. 

However chivalrous Cal’s gesture might have been, it was also useless. By the time they reach the beautiful double wooden doors on Rue du Mont Thabor, they are dripping wet, leaving a trail of puddles on the marble stairs leading up to the last floor of the building. At least the view was nice, a mini-tour of the Louvre square and its glass pyramid, tourist-free for once, and the neatly geometric trimmed treetops of orange and red leaves at the Jardin des Tiuleries. They had talked a little on the way. Cal had told her Elane, the beautiful redhead from the club, had lent him the apartment. It had been an engagement present from her fiancée, Evangeline. 

“And she was ok with that?” Mare had asked, unable to think of Evangeline helping anyone at all. 

Cal had chuckled and said Eve was the best friend one could ever ask for. Loyal to a fault and always willing to push you into being better. Mare had her reservations but had kept her mouth shut. 

As soon as he opens the door she understands what he meant when he called them an artistically inclined couple. Whereas his penthouse was modern and sleek, this place could be the setting for a period drama. White wood paneling with golden moldings on the walls, high ceilings and crystal chandeliers, polished hardwood floors, and art. Breathtaking paintings of women and nature, and sculptures made of different materials. The hall is filled with them but it doesn’t feel cluttered. Mare stares open-mouthed, feeling just a tad out of place. 

“Let’s put these in the washer.” Cal leads her through the entry hall. Her squeaking sneakers do nothing to alleviate the feeling of being an intruder. They pass by an exquisitely furnished wide living room, the kitchen, and finally the laundry room. This room she likes. It’s tiny, plain and it can barely fit two people, it reminds her of her apartment. 

“I’m going to breathe too close to one of the paintings and an alarm will go off, I’m sure of it.” Mare dreads as she pulls her hoodie and tosses it into the washing machine. Cal is doing the same, peeling the layers of clothing while they steal glances at each other. A knot tightens in her stomach every time a new item is discarded; a game of chicken she is bound to lose... because she isn't wearing a bra. 

“This place can be quite intimidating,” he agrees and unfastens his belt. _Intimidating indeed_. “But it was my only choice on such short notice.” He takes off his pants and Mare turns sideways, her cheeks burning as she kicks off the sneakers and takes off her jeans. “Shit, I’m- I should have given you some privacy.” He stammers, mistaking the source of her embarrassment. A little late for that, since they are both basically naked. She is crossing her arms over her thin white very wet, very see-through t-shirt and wearing her favorite pair of granny panties. Favorite because they’re soft and comfortable. Not precisely her sexiest lingerie piece. While he is over there, in black boxer briefs, looking like a Calvin Kline model. 

She unintentionally snaps at him, “Cal, you’re going to see me naked anyway.” Aggression has always been her go-to defense mechanism when she’s nervous. She tries to cover it up with a joke. “Good strategy, by the way. Dragging me to the laundry to get me to undress quickly.” Smirking, she gets rid of her scrunchie and lets her brown hair fall over her shoulders, covering up her lack of bra. “Do you do this with the others as well?” 

Cal looks at her like a drunk man, visibly struggling to form thoughts and words. “I... um-” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before looking at her accusingly. “I wanted us to take a cab! You’re the one that wanted to swim the rest of the way.” His pale skin flushes so adorably, she could just eat him up. Actually... that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

“Oh right.” She saunters over to him, cornering him against the dryer, watching his throat bob as he swallows. She tiptoes, placing her hands over his pecs, whispering against his neck “Maybe I like to get wet.” 

Cal’s heart skips a beat, then proceeds to beat wildly beneath her touch. Knuckles white, he holds on to the dryer behind him; his eyes are raging fires of gold as he observes her get on her knees. 

It’s fitting, really, that the first time she saw him, she thought of him as a god, because nothing feels more natural than to be kneeling before him intending to make him feel paradise. Like he did for her. Mare’s trembling hands tug his underwear out of the way and her eyes go wide. Like the rest of him, he is big. Her hand looks small wrapping around the base of his already half-hard manhood. He sucks in a breath at the contact. Cal seems unable to tear his eyes from her. 

Mare gives him a couple of tentative strokes. “Is this alright?” He nods like he is in pain. She takes mercy on him and starts pumping him at a steady rhythm. Cal moans deep in his throat and she feels her body grow hot and hyperaware of her own skin. Unable to hold back any longer, she licks the soft tip, and Cal grunts a curse. Then, breathing through her nose she starts putting him inside her mouth, giving herself time to adjust to the size of him. Feeling her body hum with electric anticipation, she hollows her cheeks as she moves her head, tasting his skin on her tongue. 

“Fuck, Mare.” She peers up at him through her long lashes. A pulsing ache settles between her legs as Cal brushes her hair away from her face and fists it at the back of her head. His ragged breaths and the sound of her mouth working him embolden her and she takes him as far back into her throat as she can. He shivers and warns her with a low voice “Mare, I’m going to-” She lets him go with a wet pop but keeps pumping him with her clever hands. Cal’s hand tightens in her hair as he moans and spends on her face. 

Mare is pretty satisfied with herself, the way she unwound him into a man struggling to regain his breath. “Come here.” He helps her up looking at her with a tenderness that makes her want to hide her heart in some of the many Parisian catacombs, for the way he makes it beat is dangerously close to affection. He makes things worse by grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, reaching for a towel on a nearby pile and cleaning her up carefully as he smiles and looks at her like she hung the stars. This is bad, this is really bad, the way he keeps creeping into her soul. 

“See? I told you.” She mutters, nonchalant. “Nothing but hormones.” 

His gaze darkens into something authoritative and sharp. She imagines he glares like that whenever he wants something to get done back at his empire, FlameNor. 

"Why is it so hard for you to admit?" 

"I have nothing to admit." She sets her hands on her hips, backing away in defiance. 

"Admit there was more to us that night than just sex or money." He doesn't let her get away, both from the subject and him, pushing forward until he has her back against the wall. Looming over her he cages her, placing his hands on the wall. "Admit you want more." 

_Don't let him in_ , a small frightened voice pleads. So she raises her walls and fills her words with disdain, "Sure, there was also the wine. I wouldn't mind having more of that." 

He hangs his head with a frustrated sigh, then bends so he is level with her, looking at her like he doesn't know what to do with her. "You are such a brat." 

"And you're a conceited jerk." 

"Probably, but you're still a stubborn brat." 

Anger rises in her. She's getting flashbacks of her patronizing high school teachers with their _'you're wasting your potential'_ and their _'I'm so disappointed with you'_ speeches. She is used to being a disappointment, but she hates it. 

"And what are you going to do about it, mister Calore?" She scoffs. "Are you sending me to detention? Are you going to punish me?" 

Cal's bronze eyes light up with a malignant glint as his voice lowers. "I am." He captures her lips in a punishing kiss, alternating between teeth and tongue at whim. His hands are on her waist as she lets him drag her somewhere, in a daze. She hits a bed with the back of her legs and yelps as Cal throws her back like she weighs nothing. She wants to laugh but there's nothing funny about the inferno raging under his skin, burning her with every touch. He settles on top of her, between her legs as he starts sucking and biting her neck; he's going to leave her covered in marks. Mare can't find it in herself to care as she runs her hands over the hard muscles of his back. 

"This is your idea of punishment?" she sighs, intending to sound mocking again, but she only sounds like a squirming, breathless mess. 

“You’ll see,” Cal speaks against her skin. His hand trails down, and down and raises the hem of her shirt. He snaps the high waist of the panties as he smirks up at her. “Nice panties.” 

“They are very comfortable,” she defends herself looking at the white flower moldings on the ceiling, avoiding his eyes, blushing crimson. “I didn’t know this was how my day was going to go” 

“And how is it going?” Whatever she might have answered to that is cut short when he mouths her nipple through the shirt, drawing circles with his tongue, eliciting waves of pleasure that shoot straight to her core. Her back arches, her fingers tangle in his dark hair as a pitiful whimper escapes her lips. “I asked you a question, Mare.” He scolds her with a deep husky voice that makes her head spin like a glass full of whiskey. 

“It-” she struggles to respond. Cal sneaks his long calloused fingers under her panties and teases back and forth. She’s aching, she needs him. Her loud gasps and stifled moans do nothing to fill her lungs with much-needed oxygen. “It’s going f- fine.” 

“And it can improve,” he says like he is talking about the weather, switching his mouth to tend to her other nipple. His middle finger finds her sensitive bundle of nerves easily and he applies slight pressure that has her seeing stars, biting her lip to keep from being too loud. “Do you want it to improve?” 

“Yes,” she manages to say. Her eyes are shut tight, her mind unable function. He sets a perfect pace and he knows it by the way her body reacts. He is playing her like a violin and she is reaching her climax. 

“I can make that happen.” He bites her and she reaches for the sheet tugging at that instead of his hair, because she is just about to hit her peak. Cal abruptly pulls his hand away from her sex and pins her wrists over her head with his strong hands as he raises himself. Now he’s straddling her and looking down at her dumbfounded frown with vengeance written all over his features. “ _If_ you admit that you want more _and_ that you like me.” 

“You... asshole,” seething with frustration, she thinks of ways to painfully murder him. She is so horny she might start sobbing if she doesn’t do something about it. Cal laughs that masculine melodic laugh of his and her murder instinct increases. “I can take care of myself.” To deliver her point, she yanks her hand free and tries to reach the throbbing between her legs. Cal catches her wrist midair and pins it back down. 

“What is it that you said the other day?” He pretends to think, squinting his eyes full of mischief. “Oh right, _I want to be the one to indulge your desires_.” 

Her desires rage wildly between murder and marriage. She tries to wriggle herself free in vain; he is too strong. She huffs, her eyes land on the tall balcony glass doors. The constant patter of the rain and the soothing natural white light calms her down enough to think. Of course she wants more, right now and in every aspect of her ‘survival mode’ life. She wants to be more than the family disappointment, she wants to find true companionship in this age of cynicism, and she wants to explore the things she’s good at, even if they are stupid for the rest of the world. And she wants him. How could she not? When it feels like their pulse, their breathing, their bodies are echoes of each other. When it feels like she’s been waiting for him her entire life. 

_Hope is a dangerous thing. To have a heart is even worse._

“Mare?” His grip loosens, his gaze soft and understanding once again. Mare takes advantage of this and pushes him aside, maneuvering her body so he is the one pinned to the bed as she straddles his hips. She might be about to yield but it feels like she just won, smiling at his surprise. 

“Fine, Cal. I admit it. That night wasn’t enough.” She tugs her shirt off in a swift movement and relishes the sensation of power from rendering him speechless and wide-eyed. She never felt like her breasts were an asset; his lustful expression seems to disagree. Her voice trembles, but her words are confident “I want more.” Cal nods silently and gulps. “Condoms?” 

“The drawer on the right.” 

She reaches for one. He sits up to help her roll it down his hard length. Her heart is fluttering under her ribs, she takes his face between her fingers and dares to ask for a single thing, “don’t make promises you can’t keep. Ok?” 

He looks puzzled, still, he nods. She raises herself from him to get rid of her final piece of clothing and slowly lowers herself onto him until he’s buried deep into her. This is the fullest she’s ever been, it feels amazing. She holds on to his broad shoulders and he grabs her hips. _Don’t think too much about how perfectly we fit, or about the way his beautiful kind eyes trail your face, don’t think_ , she chastises herself as she rocks her hips back and forth, up and down and the world starts to fade away. It’s too much, her hot skin, the waves of electricity, his calloused fingers kneading her oversensitive pebbled nipples as he moans her name like a prayer. Then it’s nothing at all but a bright pleasure explosion, and him. Cal holds her through the aftershocks and peppers her sweaty face with kisses. 

They fall on the bed, facing each other with tangled limbs. She brushes away the messy locks of soft hair from his brow. A sharp pain digs deep in her chest. A good pain, though. Cal is going to break her heart and she is going to let him. 

“No after sex puns?” 

He thinks about it for a moment then he gives her a crooked smile, “Your name really is Mare, right? Because if it’s not, that just makes things awkward.” 

Mare laughs hitting his face with a pillow, it was exactly as bad as she expected. He shields himself with the other pillow and they start a vicious battle, jumping around the massive bed. Cal tackles her by the waist and the fall to the floor with a thump, dragging the cotton sheets on their way down. That only brings another fit of laughter that subdues when Mare kneels and extends her hand to him. “Mare Molly Barrow, nice to meet you.” 

“Hi,” he says softly, shaking her hand and looking into her eyes with a dreamy smile. 

The weather gods do their thing again. The rain had stopped a while ago, but it's now the sky clears until it’s a beautiful light blue canvas and the sun turns Paris’ still wet streets into gold. 


	2. Chapter 2

Tiberias, who did not like to be called Tiberias, had woken up that Sunday morning feeling better rested than he had felt in months. He hadn’t woken up with his jaw aching from grinding his teeth in his sleep, neither had he dreamt of Elara’s icy eyes as she told him he was going to destroy his family’s legacy, or Mavey's face going white with rage as he screamed at him for hoarding his father’s love all to himself the day of his funeral. That had been months ago, and Maven hadn’t brought up the subject again but part of Cal knew he had meant it. 

The nightstand clock announced him it was 9 am. He never woke up this late, if it wasn’t for the nightmares it was some important call from the company. Even his body felt well-rested. The faint smell of Jazmin lingering on the pillow reached his nose when he moved his head to the side and suddenly the bed felt too cold, too big, too empty. Cal buried his face in it and inhaled the scent of Mare’s soft hair that reminded him of autumn hikes in the woods. Maybe it had been a dream, she was too good to be true. 

The melted ice cream, the glasses of wine, the condiment jars, and the half-eaten frittatas on the kitchen counter confirmed his fears. Or were they his hopes? Mare had been here, his heart grew wings and started flying around his chest until it crashed when the second realization hit. _ She was gone _ . He was staring at the melt ice cream pint in his hand when someone opened the door in the hall. 

“I was about to call the police, I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.” Evangeline waltzed into the kitchen, crinkling her nose at the mess. She didn’t sound worried, only annoyed, like his probable death was an inconvenience. 

“Hmm.” 

Evangeline placed a hand on her hip as she inspected the crime scene from last night. Her platinum hair was in a high ponytail and she was wearing her running gear, ready to go for their Sunday 10k run by the river bank. It was something they had been doing from the time they had been a couple, when they were both miserable and their lives were controlled by their parents. Now both of them were free and only Cal was miserable. “I always thought it was impossible for straight sex to be bad for the men. I guess I was wrong.” She tilted her head looking at him with pity. 

That pulled him out of his gloomy cloud. “What?” 

“The thief, from last night,” she sighed impatiently. “The one you _ so kindly _ put on the phone. Option A, she was terrible in bed, or option B, you woke up today to find half of your shit gone. Either way, you look like crap.” 

That’s how he felt, like a kicked puppy. He started cleaning up, placing the condiment jars back in the cupboard, and the dishes in the dishwasher. “I don’t think she took anything.” 

“You mean you didn’t check?” Eve scolded him folding her arms. 

If he had been in a better mood, he could’ve joked about it saying she had stolen his heart, but it did really feel like that. He wouldn’t say that, though, Evangeline would assassinate him for whining. He shrugged as he closed the dishwasher. Who cared if she had? 

“I’ll give you exactly three seconds to start talking or,” she looked down at her manicured nails, “I’m sending the security footage from last night, that shows your little friend playing Robin Hood at the club, to the police station.” 

“Ok, ok,” he glared at her. “Geez, who needs enemies with a friend like you?” 

Eve smiled brightly, batting her eyelashes. “I know. I contain multitudes. Now go get changed, I don’t have all day.” 

When he got back, Evangeline was sitting on the living room couch, her long legs elegantly crossed at the ankles, she read out loud a piece of paper. “ _ Thanks for everything, it was nice to meet you _ . Signed, _ Mare _ .” Cal ran up to her and snatched the paper from her hands. It was the discarded check. He ran his thumb over the ink, like doing so he could feel her again. “I went to your office to see if the safe had been broken in and saw your shirt and phone on the floor and this was on the desk. I assume there’s a story there.” Her eyes sparkled with catlike curiosity. 

There was no getting out of this. He told her the story of the night while they were running; a brief PG-13 version of it. That he had ran into Mare and lost her, that he had saved Mare from her, confirming what she already knew, and that he had offered her money to spend to be with him. 

“Cal, honey, you may not be my type but you sure as hell don’t need to pay for women’s company.” Eve had said like she was explaining something to a child. Her ponytail bounced behind her as they ran in sync. The humid summer air made it harder to breathe. 

“I know that.” He panted, “She needed the money to pay for her sister’s college.” _ Gisa Barrow _ , an artist apparently. 

“I swear, you men think with your penis instead of your head. That was a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” 

Evangeline was a highly intelligent woman and a dear friend, but she was wrong. He was willing to bet on it. She hadn’t seen the blush creep to Mare’s proud cheekbones or the way her beautiful brown eyes fell or heard the hurt in her voice when she had told him that. 

“It wasn’t a lie. It was the  _ Ecole des Beaux Arts _ in Paris.” He remembered that. To be honest, he remembered everything. 

“Oh, what a coincidence.” She laced her words with irony, happy to prove him wrong, “Elane has some friends there, let’s make a call tomorrow and hear what they say about little miss Titanos’ sister.” 

“Fine by me. Her name is Gisa Barrow.” Evangeline abruptly disappeared from his peripheral vision. He slowed his pace and turned around, jogging backward to face her. “What?” 

Evangeline had stopped, she was squinting her eyes into slits, shaking her head and everything about her posture screamed _ ‘seriously?’ _ “The girl said her name is Mare Titanos but her sister is a Barrow. Did that not set any alarms? _ Nada? _ ” 

He hadn’t even spared a thought to that fact. Not when Mare’s body was flush to his, as she drove him mad with her touch and mouth. “Well, I was a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He explained with a cheeky grin. “As you may have heard on your untimely phone call.” 

It was like poking a beehive, Evangeline sprinted to catch up to him wielding an accusing finger in front of her furious face. “Tiberias, you stupid ungrateful man, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you when I prove she played you like a fool!” 

But he wasn’t listening, he had turned around to sprint at full speed; the sound of the wind in his ears and the memory of Mare’s quiet breaths as he had tucked her under the covers last night were all he heard. 

~ 

A month later he had received another visit from Evangeline. She visited a lot lately, quick, frantic visits where she ranted about the last-minute preparations for her upcoming wedding and left just as fast. It was her way to deal with the stress. He wasn’t even supposed to try to help her, he was there for _ ‘moral support’  _ as Ptolemus had called it as he patted him on the shoulder and commiserated with him one time, while Eve ranted in the adjacent room. 

Like the dozen other occasions, he hadn’t been expecting her. Cal had just gotten off the phone with his PR people, declining yet another magazine trying to interview him for the laid-off workers’ unemployment fund he had created. _ That had been Mare’s idea _ , he thought bitterly as he sat on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out into the city. 

“You won’t believe what chef Aguste tried this time.” Evangeline marched into his office. An army condensed into the body of a 5’6 woman clad in a Carolina Herrera suit. “Remember I specifically asked for silver leaves? He got the tacky gold ones…” just then she noticed him not paying her attention, lost in his thoughts. “What’s wrong?” 

He heaved a sorrowful sigh as his shoulders slumped under his Italian suit. “Do you think she’s still out there?” 

Eve rolled her eyes but kept her tone civil. As civil as she could, considering she despised the thief. Even more now that she had to see a friend suffer because of her. 

“Probably. Even if she blew the money in some casino and got married to a guy with a neck tattoo in an express wedding conducted by an Elvis Presley impersonator, yeah. She’s probably back by now.” She settled her shopping bags under the mahogany desk and dragged a chair to sit next to him. 

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” 

“I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never seen you like this.” Her voice lost the usual arrogant edge as she placed her hand on his shoulder in a comforting attempt. Kindergarten, country club, private school, and college, they had known and resented each other nearly their entire lives, until they realized how well they worked together as friends. “What is it about her? I don’t want to be rude but she wasn’t exactly what I had pictured for you.” 

Mare, much like him, was a natural-born fighter no matter how different their circumstances might have been in life. He didn’t even know he had a type until his eyes had landed on her petite figure, scurrying away between the mass of bodies in the club. A vision in red, like every one of his private fantasies had taken the shape of a woman. And when he managed to keep her for a while, he had harmoniously fallen into step with her without even trying. Perfect partners in some invisible dance. 

“She is very special.” He simply said. Big eloquent declarations weren’t his thing, but his silence was filled with the unspoken words. 

_ “Oh dear, _ ” Evangeline murmured as she finally understood. She got up and walked over to the coffee machine. She diagnosed him, shaking her head “It seems you have fallen in love, Cal. I guess I should be happy for you, though Elane will be disappointed she couldn’t set you up with Sonya after all…” The sound of a button clicking impatiently made Cal turn around from his spot on the floor. His face was apologetic. 

“It broke down. Ask the secretary-” 

“Again? How many times have you called for electricians in the last month?” she inquired accusingly, tapping her Louboutin on the carpet. He didn’t bother to answer, for the answer was: too many. “Oh my god, next thing you know you’ll be calling the artist sister for a painted portrait.” 

_ Gisa _ . He had been so blindly trying to find Mare he had forgotten about the call Evangeline said would make to the _ Ecole des Beaux Arts _ . “Eve,” he promptly got up. “Did you ask Elane to make the call?” 

Evangeline looked away and set her jaw, nothing worse than to admit defeat. “ _ Yes _ . You’ll be happy to know your little thief wasn’t lying about a girl named Gisa that made a last-minute deposit. She even starts her classes on Monday, I think.” 

There it was! That’s how he would find Mare! He lifted Evangeline of her feet in a crushing hug and kissed her head. “Eve, you’re a genius!” 

“I’m aware of that.” she smoothed her hair when Cal put her back on the ground. “Where are you going?” 

He was halfway to the door. “To Paris.” 

~✈️✨✈️~ 

They had spent the entire morning in the bed. Talking, drinking wine, playing cards, listening to Cal’s never-ending playlist of old people music, amongst other strenuous activities. Activities they eagerly continued in the shower, when they decided it was time to get up. 

Wrapping her hair in a towel, clad in a fluffy bathrobe, Mare remembers her phone is still in the hoodie pocket. She runs across the apartment to the laundry room, clutching her heart in relief when she sees they never closed the washer, so the cycle never started. With aching thighs, she crouches to fish the phone out of the pile of clothes. Her entire body is sore, quivering like she might collapse in a heap of exhausted limbs at any minute. Running a cross country marathon? Piece of cake. Keeping up with Cal’s stamina? Now, that’s a challenge she’s willing to take. Or keep taking. Biting her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot, she tries to recall ever acting this wanton. Oh, the blessings of being young and stupid. 

The screen lights up to show 15 notifications from her sister. 

_> You LIAR_

_ >Hideous!  _ 😂😂😂 _ HIDEOUS!!  _

_ >how could you call that piece of man hideous? I…  _

_> He came all the way to France for you_ 😭 

_> what did you do to him?_ 😏😏 

_ >Go out with him!  _

_> it’s 11 am and you haven’t read a single one of my texts. Are you with Cal? _

_> I’ll assume you’re with him. ILY use protection. _

_> Damn Mare, I didn’t know you had it in you_ 😳 _it’s freaking noon and you’re still… doing whatever it is you’re doing._

_ >Ok, I’m worried. Are you alive?  _

Gisa had sent the last question every five minutes. Feeling bad she worried her sister like that, she texts a quick  _ ‘I’m ok. I’m with Cal.’ _ To which Gisa replies a bunch of suggestive fruits, vegetables, and smirking emojis. She’ll be asking every last detail later. 

With no other urgent worries, Mare closes the washing machine and pads to the kitchen, where she props herself on a stool to eat cereal until Cal comes back with the food. They had immediately agreed that neither of them should cook, and Cal was the only one with dry clothes available to get changed and go out into the world. 

A surge of panic rises to her throat when the irrational idea of him not coming back and just leaving her there to figure out she was right from the begining about him not really liking her occurs to her. _ Chill _ , she breathes, he has given her no signs of such a thing. This is what happens when your ex-boyfriend of cheats on you and gaslights you for years. Fucking Tyton, by the time she had built up the self-esteem to leave him, some other parts of her psyche had been massively messed up. Cal is different, though. _ Cal is worse _ , the little voice says, because with him everything feels faster, stronger. OK, melodrama time is up, she needs to distract herself with something. 

For the next forty minutes or so, Mare roams around the halls, taking in the beautiful paintings and sculptures. Her favorite is in the drawing-room; a woman sculpted in black marble whose face is twisted in a furious wail as she breaks a crown made of iron in her hands. It speaks to her, the vulnerability of her nudity in stark contrast with her feral defiance to the ruling class. All of Farley’s preaching must be rubbing off on her. 

Cal’s footsteps approach her from behind. “Sorry that took so long.” He hugs her waist with one arm and places a kiss on her cheek. She could melt into him. “You like this one?” 

“Hmm but you can rest assured, it’s too big for me to sneak it into my bag.” She turns to him excited, taking the bags for his hands and making a beeline for the long dining room table. “What did you get us? I’m starving.” These are way too many bags for a simple take out order. Did he order the entire menu? She drops them on the table and shuffles through them. She furrows her brow. “Where is the food?” 

An easy smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “The day is too beautiful to spend it locked up inside. We’re eating out.” 

“But I don’t have any dry clothes.” 

Cal nods to the bags. No way he bought clothes for her… he did. He got her a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, a new pair of converse sneakers, basically an expensive replacement for her earlier outfit. There’s also a flowy pastel yellow dress with a row of buttons down the front, loose long sleeves and a thin belt at to adjust it at the waist, a white wool cardigan, a pair of leather moccasins. He even got her a cute silk scarf to cover up the blossoming red evidence of their shenanigans all over her neck, and underwear (Still no bra, though). She’s too overwhelmed to say anything, so she gapes at the dress in her hands. If Gisa were here, she would gush over it with literal heart-eyes. 

“I didn’t want to impose.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But I saw that dress on the display and I thought it would look good on you.” 

“You really didn’t have to.” 

“Don’t think too much of it. I just want to go out with you.” 

It’s impossible to resist him when he plays his prince charming part so well. 

“Fine. But for future reference, I look better in purple.” She doesn’t miss the implication that there will be a future occasion, and neither does he. He perks up with a hopeful smile. 

A few minutes later she comes back to the dining room, wearing the pastel dress outfit. “It has pockets!” 

All morning, he’s been watching her like she’s something precious, something rare. And now again, his golden eyes turn into honey. “So you like it?” 

She can’t stand him looking at her like that, it makes her lose focus of reality. “Yes. Can we go now?” it comes out a little harsher than she intended. “I mean,” she tries again. “it’s beautiful, thank you.” 

They go to a little bistro that is thankfully just below their building called _ Da Rosa _ and choose a table by the window. The menu is in French, as expected, so Cal orders for both of them after she mentions the things she’s already tried and absolutely despised. Those being  _ foie gras _ and  _ escargot _ . She knows judging other cultures dishes is a mortal sin; it doesn’t stop her from wondering what the hell the person that decided that a duck’s fatty liver and snails were a delicacy was thinking. 

Since he’s been here before, Cal orders quickly. _ Artichauts napolitains _ , avocado spaghetti with smoked salmon, and water to compensate for the bottle of wine they downed earlier. The food is delicious, and only when she’s about to finish her spaghettis, does it occur to her that her table manners aren’t the best. His people pay attention to that kind of stuff, right? A small detail that reminds her once again how different they are. 

“Corona would be so pissed right now,” he jokes, contented after finishing his plate. 

“Why?” His relaxed posture and smile are contagious, dissipating the sentiment of inadequacy. 

“Salmon is his favorite. I can’t eat it at home without him throwing a tantrum until I give him some.” 

Mare chuckles, “He’s a little shit, even for a cat.” 

“He is!” cal laughs looking out the window, probably thinking of how Corona ruined the mood when she was over at his apartment. “Eve has to be the only human in the world who gets along with him. He loves her.” 

“Can’t say that surprises me.” She takes a sip of her water holding her pinky finger out, trying to imitate her snobbish tone. “Fellow potential murderers recognize each other.” 

“Or he recognizes divine authority.” His eyes twinkle with mirth for a second. It extinguishes and he lowers his head, some intrusive thought must have snuffled the light within him like a gush of wind to a candle flame. Cal derails the subject by calling the waitress and ordering dessert. 

Mare won’t let it go. “What was that? Were you thinking about your father?” 

The silence that follows is not uncomfortable. On the narrow side street beyond the window, people go about their day in a hurry, a world that spins too fast and minutes that are never enough. Yet, they sit in their own piece of alternate reality, in a bubble where months or even years of life can be condensed in a single look, a few words, a touch of a hand. Mare reaches over the table to place her hand over his on the table. His is pale and strong, hot to the touch, while hers, small thin brown fingers that are inexplicably cold most of the time. Another difference. 

Cal breathes deeply before turning his palm to take her hand. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, counting them, distracting himself, making her entire body hums with satisfaction. “About my father, about me, everything. I’m a fiasco, Mare.” He chuckles darkly. “One day I’m going to ruin the company my great-great-grandfather built with his sweat and blood, or I’ll lose all my ideals, every bit of my soul, and morph into something I hate. Whatever happens first.” He finally looks up and his eyes are dark pools of swirling despair, and he’s drowning. 

“You’re not.” She utters full of passion. “The only way you’ll lose yourself is if you try to please everyone. Fuck them. Build your own legacy, Cal.” 

Her bluntness startles them both. “Maven would disagree with you. He always knows what to do, how to negotiate to get his way and he hasn’t even finished his Master yet. I can’t disappoint him.” He stresses the last part. Cal had mentioned his closest advisor and best friend was his younger brother. He could advise him to jump off a cliff and Cal would trust his good judgment. He hadn’t used those words exactly, but that’s what Mare had gotten out of the conversation. 

“And have you told him what you want? Hell, have you asked him what he wants?” 

“I- well-” He stammers. Then he tilts his head in a conceding manner. “I do what I can, considering the state of our relationship at the moment.” 

“That bad?” 

“Yeah,” he groans making it clear he is done with talking about his brother. “A conversation for another day.” Desserts arrive, breaking the residual tension from his declaration. She lets go of his hand, instantly missing the warmth, to make room for the plates. The best lemon tartelettes she’s ever had. “I will say this. You remind me a lot of him.” 

Mare raises an eyebrow, fork halfway to her mouth. 

“I phrased that wrong.” He shakes his head with a crooked smile. “I meant you’re both very practical, smart. You see things from a perspective I can’t.” 

One day she might like to meet him. Who knows, maybe they’ll get along and become friends. 

~ 

After the copious meal and physical exertion from the morning, all she wants is to curl up, preferably around Cal, and sleep for a century. Instead, they rent a pair of _ Vélib _ bikes from a nearby street after Cal mentions he needs to make an errand close by. They head for the Ópera avenue. 

“It’s better this way,” Cal says turning his head in her direction. The wind messing up his locks of dark hair as they ride their bikes. “You get an unobstructed view instead of having to elbow your way through the sidewalk.” 

He’s right. Mare can see the elegant uniform facades of the buildings lining the streets and the magnificent Palais Garnier at the end of the avenue, its gilded angel sculptures gleaming under the sun like beacons for lovers of the performing arts, and tourists, always tourists. They had all crawled out of their hotels and flooded the streets as soon as the storm had passed. 

“Do you know what those are?” She points to the angels on top of the Ópera roof. 

“I think it was something... music related?” 

Mare laughs shaking her head. “You’re a terrible guide.” 

“This is Mavey’s area of expertise.” He shrugs, unbothered. 

They circle around the building to a little roundabout in front of a pair of similar department stores connected by a glass bridge over a narrow street.  _ Galeries Lafayette _ . They leave their bikes parked on the sidewalk and Mare follows Cal into the building to the right. 

The splendor and luxury of the illuminated showcases are almost blinding. Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Channel, literally every single high-end brand on the planet seems to be here. 

“I have to pick up some cufflinks Evangeline ordered for me.” He explains offering the crook of his elbow to avoid being separated by the hundreds of shoppers wandering around the shops, even forming lines behind velvet ropes to get in some. It’s baffling to witness that some are willing to spend thousands of dollars on a pair of shoes. She places her hand on his elbow after a second of hesitation, her stupid heart jumps at the slightest contact. 

“How nice of her.” 

“She did it because she wants  _ everything _ to go according to plan for her big day.” He explains as they enter the Cartier store. She’s never felt more out of place than right now— until Cal addresses the clerk lady in what she considers perfect French, though not as seamless as Gisa’s. The clerk answers with a nod and a smile as she goes to retrieve the order. 

Mare lets go of his arm and doesn’t bother hiding her awe as she inspects the displays. The fact that she wouldn’t waste her hard-earned money on things like these doesn’t mean she can’t recognize their beauty. Running her fingers over the 4 cheap earrings on her ear, each a different color, she finds it funny these are her most prized possessions. 

“Where did you get those?” Cal is smiling relaxed, clasping his hands behind his back, watching her experience everything with the same interest she inspects the diamonds on display. In this moment, she could let herself think some corny shit, like _ ‘none of the precious stones in here is half as fascinating as his amber eyes’ _ but she clears her throat and doesn’t think that  _ at all _ . That would be silly. 

“Gifts, from my brothers. They mean a lot to me.” The memory of Bree hugging with unusual tenderness, the day before he left for the army, neither of them knowing if that would be the last time they saw each other, floats into consciousness. “They mark special moments.” 

Cal walks over to her and tucks a strand of chocolate hair behind her ear, taking a closer look at the earrings. His delicate touch plants roses under her skin and they take root in her brain, her lungs, making it hard to think, impossible to breathe. “You have three brothers. Who gave you the fourth?” 

“Uhmm...” _ Think Mare, focus. _ “Kilorn, my best friend. I did tell you about him, did I?” She breathes out. 

“He’s not... you know, that guy?” Cal runs his thumb over the curve of her ear, trying his best to sound casual but a possessive undertone creeps into his question anyway. Her knees have the solidity of a house of cards. She had avoided talking about Tyton, vaguely mentioning the asshole ex like a passing topic. 

“What? No. Kilorn is family.” She breaks free of the fog created by his warm touch by taking a step back, gathering her thoughts into some semblance of coherence, “Have a problem with that?” She prods. Her tolerance for controlling behavior is _ low _ . 

“No,” he seems startled. “I didn’t-” The clerk returns with a small velvet box and calls him with a polite _ ‘Monsieur’ _ , saving him from whatever he was going to say. Mare thinks he mumbles _ ‘thank God’  _ under his breath. 

The cufflinks in the box are silver squares with small rubies in the corner. Cal nods and the lady proceeds to bag the item, making small talk as she prints and makes him sign the pickup form. The clerk smiles to her as well when she says, _ “Voulez-vous voir quelque chose pour la dame?”  _

Is she talking to her or to Cal? She can’t tell. 

Cal hesitates before translating for her, “She says there are a few other things I have to sign.” He nods to the hallway. “Go look around the place. This could take a while.” Why does he sound nervous? She shrugs and heads outside. 

“Fine. If I get lost, I’ll make an alarm go off.” She throws over her shoulder and hears him chuckle. 

She makes a turn to the left, to a slightly more open area and as soon as she looks up, she understands what the fuss about this place is about. _ “Wow,” _ the small exclamation escapes her lips as she cranes her neck to look at the majestic glass dome that governs the ceiling. She is a tiny ballerina inside a gilded music box, spinning slowly without ever blinking, detached from the real world. Because there’s no way this is real, and that she’s actually here. 

She shakes off that feeling, which has been creeping up on her a lot these days. Why can’t she be here? Why can’t she step out of the box and do something with her life? She can. She can and she will. 

The stalls in the center are mostly perfume and make-up brands. She wanders from one store to the next, enjoying the fragrance samples and openly frowning at the ones the dislikes, At the Lancôme stall, a friendly-looking girl with the sharpest eyeliner game she’s ever seen approaches her when she’s looking at the lipsticks display. _ “Tu pourras le essayer, si ça te dit.”  _

“I’m sorry, I don’t-” Mare starts awkwardly but the girl bats a dismissing hand. 

“Don’t worry about it. Would you like to try one?” her chipper tone and lovely accent make her feel at ease. 

“Sure. What do you recommend?” 

“A classic, of course.” She pulls a stick from de display and lifts it like it’s the holy grail. “ _ L’absolu rouge _ . Come.” The girl waves her over to a narrow vanity mirror, then grabs a clean lipstick brush and paints her lips with expert strokes. “There you go!” She claps her hands and Mare turns to look in the mirror. 

Loose brown hair, a bit disheveled from the bike ride, cascades past her shoulders and frames her face in a way that’s surprisingly pretty, sexy even. Or maybe it’s all thanks to the lipstick. A bold red that lights up her complexion as if she were wearing a face full of make-up. That’s why she chose this color that night. The same color she later spread all over Cal’s chest and neck like a signature.  _ “Magnifique!” _ The girl chirps. 

“I agree.” A deep voice made of velvet makes her whip around to find him smiling down at her. Cal had been observing her through the mirror. Butterflies erupt in her stomach and a blush paints her cheeks. “We’ll take this one.” He says to the clerk without taking his eyes off Mare, drinking her in like she’s nectar. “Do you want anything else?” 

“Wonderful!” The girl grabs a sealed lipstick from a drawer and goes away. 

“I want you to stop spending money on me.” She chastises him but her voice catches in her throat, choking on the butterfly invasion inside of her. Infatuation is such a violent thing. How some people crave it, she’ll never understand. 

He smirks as he brushes past her to go to the checkout. But he stops and leans to whisper in her ear, mischievous and  _ oh so irresistible _ , “Have you paid attention to the way your mouth looks? This is a purely selfish purchase.” 

Her hand tingles with the repressed impulse to grab him by the collar and kiss him senseless. They are in a very public place though, so instead, she feigns interest on the scarfs on the adjacent stall and goes over to them. 

“Didn’t you forgo your salary? I’m just trying to keep you from going bankrupt.” She casually comments, touching the fabric, counting the ridiculous number of zeros in the price tags. Anything to ban the feverish images of Cal’s hands desperately grabbing her thighs when she was on top of him earlier, or the reflection of their joined bodies under the shower stream in the fogged bathroom mirror, her mind plays on repeat. 

Cal laughs from a few feet away, blessedly ignorant of her delirium. Mare huffs, annoyed at herself and she turns to go over to him and ask him if they can go to the apartment now. And she spots them. 

A pair of women just showed up at the Lancôme stall. Perfect blond hair, perfect creamy skin, perfect clothes on even more perfect slim bodies. Both of them blatantly checking out Cal in a full-body scan that pokes uncomfortably at some dormant animal deep within her belly. He is taking a small black bag from the cashier, smiling politely, unaware he has an audience. 

God knows she’s never been a jealous woman. But if they were living by the law of the jungle she would jump on his back, wrap herself around him and hiss _ ‘mine’ _ . She is frowning, pressing her lips in a tense line, _ don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t- oh my god she’s doing it _ . Her feet are moving of their own accord and suddenly she’s next to Cal, on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to plant an _ absolu rouge _ tinted kiss right over his jawline. 

Cal instinctively wraps his free arm around her waist and blinks a thousand times in a confused second. She pulls away to inspect her work and smiles with wicked elation at the perfect red kiss now branding his ivory skin. Cal looks dizzy but irrationally happy, with a foolish smirk in his lips. “What...” his gaze catches something in the direction of the blondes and his smirk grows wider as understanding hits him. Inclining his head to give her an infuriating peck on the tip of her nose, he taunts her, “you’re cute when you’re jealous, darling.” 

_ Darling _ . He called her darling— and jealous. 

She wants to protest, to deny the truth, but he quickly intertwines their hands, thanks the cashier, and drags her away. Passing by the pair of disappointed looking girls on their back to the main door. 

“Am I allowed to clean your ownership signature?” He’s only joking, she knows this. Still, her pulse quickens and makes her already hot cheeks burn further. 

“Not until we’re back at the apartment.” She keeps her tone even like she’s playing along. His grip on her hand tightens slightly. 

“I’m ok with that.” He says so quietly she almost misses it. God, he needs to stop being so perfectly tailored to her or she’ll combust from an emotional overdose. 

They exit the building and Cal stops dead on his tracks. 

“Cal? Oh, dear! What are the odds?” A beautiful girl with feline eyes and smooth dark skin materializes right in front of them and greets Cal with a one-armed hug. Her other hand is holding a dozen shopping bags. 

“Sonya, what a coincidence,” he responds cordially. “What are you doing here?” 

Sonya recovers from her initial surprise and her eyes snap to Mare’s face, down to their intertwined hands and up again to the kiss marked on Cal’s face. Her wide smile falters at the edges, her eye twitches. It lasts only a second. “Shopping a dress for the big day, duh. I imagine you’re doing the same.” 

“Among other things, yes.” Neither of them misses the fact that she hasn’t acknowledged Mare’s presence at all. “I don’t believe you two know each other. This is Mare. Mare, this is Elane’s friend, Sonya.” The way he puts a degree of separation between him and Sonya makes her repress a cackle. Who knew he had it in him to be snarky? 

“Hi, nice to meet you.” She waves her hand. 

“Hm,” Sonya forces a tight smile. “Likewise. So, are you invited to the wedding as well, Mare?” 

Oh, c’mon. She knows the answer to that and is only asking to make her feel left out. Mentally, Mare rolls her eyes back into her skull. How high-school-mean-girl of her. 

“She’s going with me,” Cal interjects, charming as always. 

He’s only saying that to save her from an awkward answer. Mare tries to play it cool. _ Don’t get too excited.  _

“Great! I’ll be looking forward to seeing you there.” Another plastic smile. “I have so many things to do, but it was lovely running into you.” Sonya grips Cal’s arm in a display of affection and walks away, her heels clicking on the sidewalk at a swift pace. 

“Are all your friends like this?” Mare asks after a while. 

“Sometimes,” he answers noncommittally. “Would you come with me to Eve’s wedding?” He gives her a hopeful look and she feels torn. Going anywhere near that girl is suicidal. On the other hand, Cal wants to be with her, he wants to make plans and maybe his hand in hers, just like now, is enough for her to consider a suicidal plan. 

Mare grumbles something that sounds like a yes and Cal is grinning like a birthday boy. “You’re dragging me into the den of wolves.” 

“Which means you get a drag-me-anywhere-you-want coupon, as well.” He elbows her lightly. “Use it wisely.” 

“Hmm,” Mare nods with a devilish glint in her eyes. “I think I will.” She’s already envisioning Cal awkwardly shifting in his seat while he listens to Farley’s impassionate speeches during one of her socialist rallies in a dingy pub. Now, going to a socialite wedding seems like a walk in the park in comparison. 

~ 

The afternoon flew by in as they rented another pair of bikes and roamed around the streets. In the Villemin Garden they listened to the live musicians that filled the air with magic under a gazebo. Then rode south, to Cal’s favorite spot in the city, the _ Ars et Métiers _ museum. Which was, much to her surprise, dedicated to science and inventions. 

Part of the museum had been an abbey once and now it was a beautiful display of vintage half disassembled cars, plane prototypes pending from the ceiling, and a Foucault pendulum in perpetual movement hanging from the highest part of the vaulted ceiling. The light flooded the reverent space through the stained-glass windows and Mare understood why Cal liked this place so much. Unlike every other museum she had been thus far, this one wasn’t crowded at all, and he had mentioned how much he enjoyed tinkering with machines. That was a temple for his passions. 

There, he had confessed to her the dangerous innovation he wanted for FlameNor, to turn it into a green energy company. Mare had confessed she wanted to get an electrician license and try to start her own business. It had seemed like a silly thing after he talked about what he wanted to do with a billion-dollar company, but Cal had reacted with such pride, and he had been so supportive, she had choked up a little. 

They got back to the apartment and Cal finally let her take a nap. She had intended to tell him to curl up next to her on the couch but as soon as her head had touched the velvet cushion, she fell asleep. 

_ A fifteen-minute nap. _ She squints her eyes to the cell phone she just pulled out of her cardigan pocket after Cal woke her up kissing her temple. 

“Unless the building is on fire, you have no excuse to wake me up so soon,” she glares at him. 

“I prepared dinner,” he pulls her up by the arm, but Mare refuses to move, hanging limply like a ragdoll. 

“That’s supposed to motivate me?” She hasn’t forgotten he was an accessory to the frittata crime back at his house in Norta. Her palate still remembers. 

“I didn’t say I  _ cooked _ . Now c’mon.” 

“My legs hurt,” she whines. “I won’t walk.” 

Cal looks at the ceiling and releases a long frustrated breath, then he turns his back to the couch and bends his knees a little. “I’ll take you.” 

Mare snorts a laugh but she’s already standing on the couch and jumping to his back. She wraps her legs around his torso and her arms around his neck before biting down hard on his neck. 

“Ow! What was that for?” He protests as he grabs her legs to support her. God, he’s so whipped. 

“That was for interrupting my nap. Don’t ever do that.” She says sweetly, then rubs the spot where she attacked and kisses it lightly. 

“Not waking you up, noted.” They pass by the dining room and the table is empty. Empty of food, at least. “Anything else I should be wary about, your majesty?” 

“Heights.” She fakes a shiver. “If God had wanted me to be near him, he would’ve made me taller.” 

“Oh, then you’re going to _ love _ where we are going.” She can hear the malicious smirk in his tone. She freezes. 

“Where are we- Hell, no!” At the end of the bedrooms’ corridor, he pulls a lever disguised on the wall, a roof hatch opens and a ladder falls down. Mare is strangling him with her limbs like a Boa constrictor. “No, no, no. I’m sorry I bit you. Don’t be a dick, please.” She begs, frantic, burying her head in his shoulder and clenching her eyes shut. “Cal, I swear to God-” 

“You’re with me.” His voice is tender and reassuring. “It’s going to be fine, please open your eyes.” He rubs soothing circles with his thumb over her bare knee. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mutters, mentally counts down from ten to open her eyes. She opens them and gasps. 

Paris extends before her like an ocean of even rooftops, cut in half by the waters of the Seine, the outline of the Eiffel tower against the backdrop of the most beautiful sunset she has ever seen. Hues of pink, orange, and red set the city on fire. Cal prepared a bottle of wine, cheeses, grapes, bread, and a bunch of other stuff on a platter. There’s a record playing on the background, and she may not be a snob but even she can recognize Edith Piaf. It’s so ridiculously cliché and over the top, but warm fuzzy happiness seeps into her bones, and her brain, and her heart all the same. 

“Not bad, eh?” He seems pleased with his work. “We were lucky it rained earlier. It cleared the air.” 

“It’s wonderful.” She lets go of him and plants her feet on the roof. 

Cal looks at her, the sunset swimming in the golden pools of his eyes, and smiles. “It is.” 

They sit down and talk nonsense, eating the food, drinking the wine, wasting minutes like they are meant to live forever. Mare takes off the cardigan to let the last rays of sunlight caress her skin. 

“Look at us.” She is leaning back on her elbows, her legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. “I can’t believe I had settled with the way I was living.” _ I can’t believe there was a time when I didn’t know you _ . With a sip of Syrah, she drowns that melancholic thought. 

“Me neither.” 

“Oh, your life wasn’t that bad.” Mare jokes. “It only got significantly better after you met me.” 

Cal runs his hand through his hair, a pained smile crosses his angular features. “You have no idea.” He looks into the skyline when he says in a voice so low it barely reaches her. “I’ve been searching for you my entire life. Even when I didn’t know I was.” Mare is on a free fall, her throat tight, her ears buzzing _. In every corner of every street and in every face _ , she wants to add, to scream, to confess. But the words stick at her throat and she says nothing. An embarrassed chuckle follows the declaration. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?” 

“It does. It really does.” She manages to say. “Come here.” 

He shuffles over and Mare wastes no time in grabbing fistfuls of his hair, dragging him down over her body, pressing their lips together in a deep, desperate attempt to let him know without saying it aloud. _ You’re the sun _ , she softly bites his plush lower lip. _ You’re the light _ , she savors his tongue in her mouth. _ You’re everything _ , she takes one of his hands and drags it down to her ribcage, so he can feel her erratic heart _. I’m so fucking in love with you _ . 

For once, she wishes he could hear her thoughts, so she wouldn’t have to say... 

“Mare.” Cal pulls away, his pupils dilated behind half-lidded eyes. His voice is honey and whiskey. “I lo-” 

Time to panic. 

Mare covers his mouth with both hands. “Don’t say it.” She shuts him up, short of breath. “Not here.” Her eyes wide and a little terrified. Cal knits his brow, she explains before he can jump to wrong conclusions, “I mean, everything is so perfect here. It feels like a dream, but I’ll be in Norta next week and... I want you there still. In the real world.” She ends her rambling and feels him smile against her palm. 

“First it was the hormones, now the geographic location?” 

“Maybe.” Sitting up, she escapes his eyes. “Or maybe you have no timing.” She doesn’t mean that last part. 

“Then I guess I’ll just save these for later.” Cal reaches into his pocket and pulls a little Cartier box and opens it to reveal a pair of small ruby earrings. 

“I told you to stop buying me stuff.” Mare pretends to be annoyed, but her irrepressible grin makes it hard to believe. 

“Will you, Mare Barrow-” he starts, kneeling before her, his bronze eyes glinting with mischief “-go out on a date with me once we are in Norta?” 

A rose garden blooms inside her chest. 

“Of course.” She laughs shaking her head. “And depending on how we end tonight, I might even give you my number.” 

Suddenly, Cal stills with a serious expression. He gives her the box quickly and stands up. “You hear that?” 

“What?” Looking around, she tucks the earrings in her pocket and stands up. “What is it?” 

“The song.” He takes her waist and pulls her flush against him with a contented smile. “ _ That _ is perfect timing.” 

It takes her a second to process. She does know this song. Not the name nor the meaning, though. A triumphant melody with a nostalgic voice. 

“ _ I don’t regret anything _ .” Cal translates and it’s also a declaration. “Do you?” He asks softly, giving her a choice. Always giving her a choice. 

Mare places her hands on his shoulders and her cheek against his heart.

“Not a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is ["Non, Je ne regrette rien"](https://youtu.be/Q3Kvu6Kgp88).  
> Places they visit:  
> [Galeries Lafayette](https://c8.alamy.com/comp/DXX4ME/dome-of-the-galeries-lafayette-department-store-paris-le-de-france-DXX4ME.jpg)  
> [Arts et métiers museum](https://tma.ifip.org/2019/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2018/10/musee-des-arts-et-metiers.jpg)  
> +In case you were wondering: the gilded statues of the Garnier Opera represent Harmony and Poetry.  
> +Also the lady at Cartier asked Cal if he wanted to see something for Mare, and he lied when he translated obs.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I loved writing this and I'm happy to share it with such lovely fandom.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys this took way longer than I thought it would, and there were some ideas I couldn't include because of the word count. If this one does half as well as the first part did, you can expect a second chapter! ILY all <3 stay safe!


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